Lockjaw
A/N: And, it is complete! After weeks of procrastination and worrying about dialogue, here's the finished product. Many thanks to all those who reviewed, and the people behind the scenes who helped a lot (more than they can possibly imagine.) And, yes, guys, it's still in canon. Get that.
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Charlie was, at that moment, very nervous. In fact, his fight and flight reflex was screaming at him to run now (as it did far too often for his liking: during roulette, poker, craps and any other gambling venture, for that matter.) However, this time, he had decided not to listen to the nagging voice at the back of his cranium, and stay where he was.
Which was, incidentally, hiding underneath a table in the High Roller's Lounge. He was waiting for the opportune moment to make a dash for Max's office, and tell him the news. Yes, Charlie had sunk that low: but, then, he'd sunk lower. Also, he'd just finished business with Manny next to the elevator, and, having passed over the briefcase to a reasonably trusted associate, he was now concentrating on a way to keep his current abode, livelihood and any semblance of a reputation he had left.
In fact, there was only one thing stopping him from doing so: that being the lawyer on the other side of the room, who was getting through a large pile of paperwork at a rate of knots whilst idly smoking a cigarette.
Charlie watched him briefly, wondering why on earth someone would want to do that much work, before looking over his plan for the umpteenth time. He hadn't seen Lola since their twilight exchange, and had heard some particularly nasty rumours pertaining to her demise., so he hadn't got the evidence he'd wanted. Therefore, he was planning to smart talk his way into fame, fortune, money and favour, or as the case may be, a sharp kick to the behind (or, worse, a sproutella pellet to the head.)
However, whilst still pondering his spectacularly misjudged plan (still underneath the table in the more formal part of the High Roller's Lounge), a slight inconvenience occurred, in the form of a horribly stereotypical French waiter grabbing him by the scruff of his suit and hauling him into the light, whilst still miraculously balancing his tray in one hand.
As Charlie tried and failed to get out of his grip, whilst squinting in the bright light (as a conman and a resident of Rubacava, he was a very much nocturnal skeleton), said waiter peered at him, choked at the smell, and began to babble French at a speed that seemed entirely unhealthy.
Nick, from his spot further across the room, looked up, and taking a piece of paperwork off the top of the pile, took him self and his cigarette and relocated to his employer's office.
"Will you get off the suit? It's the only one I have," Charlie said irritably, trying to prise the waiter's hand off the collar off his blazer, to no avail. Pulled by the neck, Charlie soon found himself through the ostentatious archway, straight to the man himself: Maximino.
From where they were cloistered around Max's desk, both skeletons looked up, Nick swore under his breath, and Max sighed.
"Your excuse had better be good, Charlie," he said, expectantly. So far, Charlie's excuses had been remarkably similar and not very good.
"Ah, well, I came to tell you about Nicky --"
Nick abruptly cut into his sentence. "Do you want to continue with the contract, or shall I call Aitor now?" He continued to outline various points on the piece of paper, and Max diverted his attention back to the legal jargon. How he understood al that, Charlie didn't know.
"And... and Olivia!" He piped up, to no avail. The pair at the desk kept talking, and were blocking him out.
Nonetheless, he tried again. "Nick... and Olivia.." Still, he was paid no heed. Instead, he got the distinct impression that he was nothing but a fly that they desperately wanted to swat.
"Nick... and Olivia... kissing!" He was ignored until the paperwork was finished and, once, again, Aitor was summoned, and he was unceremoniously scooped into the crook of the demon's arm, as a child would carry it's cuddly toy.
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Dumped once more outside the back fire exit of the Cat Track, Charlie got up, dusted his already muddy and tattered suit off for no apparent reason, before heading down the dark alley in front of him with every intent to disappear into the dark back streets of Rubacava. However, he didn't quite get that far, as he found himself with a gun pointed evenly between his eye sockets.
"Keep walking, or I'll shoot," Nick said, moving behind him in one fluid movement, holding the back of his collar in one hand, and pressing the gun pointedly into his spine. Charlie, realising it would be a bad idea to protest at this point, began to walk.
It took quite some time before they got to their destination: the sun was peeking forlornly over the trees as they reached the gates of the Petrified Forest. However, gun still pointed at his hostage, Nick twisted the hapless skeleton around, and reached into the protesting con man's inside blazer pocket, drawing out a shiny gold Number Nine ticket. With a smirk, he placed it inside his own jacket, before opening the gate, and pushing the skeleton he had held at gunpoint inside the forest.
"Keep going until you get to El Marrow: you will be sprouted if I see you again. It's tipped to be the new haunt for your kind." Charlie didn't start to move until he heard the gun cock behind him, at which point he swore under his breath and trudged into the depths of the forest, muttering under his breath. As soon as he was certain that the smaller skeleton had gone, Nick began to walk back to Rubacava, certain in the knowledge that he had a direct ticket out of the Land of the Dead as soon as he wanted it, and that Chowchilla Charlie would never get a chance to interfere in his personal affairs again: the demons (or the beavers) would get him first.